Blight Rose
by moonmythology
Summary: A rewriting of the Alistair/Cousland romance some AU subplots. Update: Things steam up for Alistair as a certain squire makes his moves on Rosamond.
1. Chapter 1: Brothers and Sisters

**Chapter One: Brothers and Sisters**

There weren't many women amongst the Grey Wardens. In fact, she was the first one Alistair had met.

Lady Rosamond Cousland from Highever: skilled with knives and Maker knows what else. That was how Duncan first mentioned her. He forgot to mention that she was beautiful. In times when she was not looking, he could just stare at her for hours and not get bored. To him at least, it was amusing to watch how her golden red hair caught the last ray of the Korcari sunset or how she tried to steady her pendant between her breasts as they walked. He made that pendant for her while she had her first dream of the darkspawn. Since Grey Wardens were supposed to consider each other as brothers and sisters, he wondered if his thoughts could be considered incestuous.

He did also hear of her history: how she lost her family in one night when Arl Howe attacked and destroyed her home. Despite that, she was still able to get everything done. While he was still deep in mourning Duncan, she became the group's leader by default and was able to get them out of the Wilds with a witch in tow. Despite the impossibility of the situation: two junior Grey Wardens and a small rag tag group of fighters against a Blight she still believed that they could still win. She was amazing. No, he thought that that word did not even do her justice.

Sometimes he watched her toss in her sleep. She was having nightmares. During the times she thought everyone was asleep, she spoke with her dog, Fergus, which could prove to be confusing at times because she mentioned several times that her brother's name was Fergus too. If anything, that did prove her odd sense of humor.

"Do you think he's alive here somewhere Fergus?" she whispered as she lay her head on the dog's massive back as she looked at the stars.

The dog barked cheerfully.

"That's true. He probably stinks now too. Well, if he's out there, I hope he is sleeping comfortably somewhere and dreaming good dreams."

Alistair looked at the sky above him. He wondered if it looked the same throughout Ferelden. He thought about his sister, Goldanna: if she was under the same sky, was she also thinking of him the way the woman with her was thinking and worrying about her own brother? He could only wonder.

Once at Lothering, he told her that he was a bastard raised by Arl Eamon and then later the Chantry. Of course, he did not tell her who his father was. No, the last thing he would want is another person to coddle him, especially a lady, especially her. No: all she had to know was that he was raised by dogs.

Speaking of dogs, she ate like a dog although she denied it. In some nights, she watched her creep to their food supply and raid it. The next morning, he would see most of the food gone. She was changing the way she was expected to change. As a senior Grey Warden, a brother-by-default, it was his task to take care of her. Not having known his sister yet, he wondered how a brother should act to a sister.

Seeing a bag of cookies left near the fire as they were encamped near Lothering, he had an idea.

That night, as she took over the Watch, he handed the bag to her.

"Here, take it. I know you are hungry, er…sister."

She looked up to him from her seat. "Uh…thanks. But weren't you eating these earlier?"

"I saved some for you."

She took the small bag in her hands. A small frown formed on her face as she examined the first cookie she picked. "Some of these are half-eaten."

"I did not touch those, I swear."

She ate them anyway. After finishing most of it in less than five minutes, he flashed an overly sweet smile that made her raise one eyebrow.

"I am glad you enjoyed it, sister."

Her reply was a weird questioning look. He probably looked weird.

As she placed the last cookie in her mouth, they heard a loud bellow near the fireside.

"Vashedan! Who stole my confections?!"

The guilty party did not stand up.

* * *

Two hours later, Rosamond and Alistair found themselves in Lothering once more.

"Why?" Alistair lamented. "Why did you have to eat those cookies?"

"You _gave_ them to me, you idiot."

"That did not mean you had to _eat_ it. They might have had poison for all we know."

"If it had poison, perhaps it was meant for you."

She was right, of course. It was he who took the cookies and forced her to look for a baker in the middle of the night.

Most of Lothering was quiet save for its tavern. There were no cookies to be found there. The bakery was closed, but both of them found no harm in knocking on its door. At the first knock they both heard barking, a crashing sound, and a shrewish voice yelling: "Oh shut up, Paws!" It took a few more knocks until the door opened, revealing a small brown terrier and a middle aged woman in her night clothes.

"What do you want?!" grumbled the woman. To both of them, that sounded almost like a threat since she looked like she had better days.

Rosamond spoke first. "We just wanted to buy some cookies."

"Sorry can't help you."

The woman was about to close the door to their face when Rosamond's quick hand stopped it.

"Madam, I am sorry that we have come at an inopportune time, but we would appreciate it if the baker could make some cookies for us tonight. It means a lot to our friend—"

"Look dear lady," retorted the woman, "even if I want to help you, my husband is on his way to Redcliffe and won't be back in a days.

The massive door was about to be shut to their faces once more had not the dog slipped past to do his business by a bush nearby. "Not again Paws!"

"Please Madam—we will pay you one gold piece if you let us use your husband's kitchen."

That did the trick. Soon, they found themselves confronted with the reality of dough, flour, salt, sugar, butter, eggs, vanilla, chocolate chips and a heated oven. Rosamond barely remembered how Nan made cookies for her, but she had enough help from a book she found on the cupboard which she contained the baker's cookie recipes. They divided the work: Alistair mixing ingredients in one bowl while she in another. Given that he never had any experience in kitchens save for raiding them, Rosamond ended up doing most of the mixing and chocolate positioning until the cookies were placed into the oven.

When the cookies were done, Alistair took one small bite and swallowed. Although it wanted a bit more sugar and it was a slightly overbaked, at least it tasted like a cookie. "It's…err…edible."

"Thanks a lot." Her eyebrows and lips twisted into a frown. "Well, you can expect nothing less from one of the most eligible women of Ferelden. By the way, I am also skilled with poisons."

"That explains why I feel like I'm going to die within the hour." His hands dramatically grabbed his neck while he made choking noises.

She did not seem to take the joke. She was silent for a few seconds as she took a seat by the fire. "I…I don't think I could ever let you die."

There was no chair beside her so he sat on the floor. Of all the things that could make her sad, it surprised him that it was the thought of him dying. Not many people could be affected about such a thought save perhaps for those who knew who his secret.

The kitchen became too silent. He smiled a naughty grin and inched his face close to the downcast face. "Aww…I did not know you cared for me so much. I am charming after all."

Her lean but strong arms pushed him back down. "Don't let it get to your head. You could be an idiot sometimes."

"Whoever said that idiots can't be charming?"

"They can't be charming because _I_ said so."

He gave her a feigned frightened look.

"Seriously, I don't think I could cope about you dying because I don't think I could lose another person important to me. Being a Grey Warden and all, you're the closest thing I have to family. I know that this kind of thinking is selfish…"

Family. He never had one, but he was comforted by the thought that she thought of him as such.

"So as family, what do brothers and sisters usually do?"

"You learn to share." A smile formed on her lips as she took one cookie from the tray. He watched her break it into almost equal halves and gave him one piece. He was about to eat his piece when he noticed that her eyes seemed to stare and wander far away as if she weren't in the kitchen anymore with him.

He felt for her hand and gave him her piece. "What if I want to give you everything? What if I wouldn't mind if I do not get anything? What would you call that?"

Her eyes caught his. He did no know if it was confusion he saw in them as she held his gaze. He held her hand until she pulled it away. "That's called being fair." Like a hungry seagull, she swallowed both pieces almost whole.

* * *

It was almost daybreak when they got back to camp. Fergus, who had been keeping watch in their place, almost dove at his mistress when she gestured him to sit down in time and patted him. She silently crept to Sten's tent to bestow upon him the night's labor. Once she was done, she went back to where she was keeping post and laid her head on her dog's back. Alistair sat on the space close to her a bit far away from the mabari.

"So, uh…do brothers usually inspect their sisters' suitors?"

"Only annoying ones," she said with her eyes closed. "Which is sadly I think a common brotherly characteristic."

"How many have you had?"

"I don't like bragging. Thank you very much."

"Good for you."

"Thanks."

"Anyone interesting?"

"No. Not interested in getting married to babies or old lechers. I am not impressed by titles either."

"What about princes? I heard they were charming."

"Probably. Only good-looking ones please."

He did not know if she fell asleep or was at least trying to sleep. As she fell silent, he could not help but think: _If she only knew…If she only knew…_

Of course, he did not want her to know. As he sat, he noticed a red rose blossoming near her. He smiled. After Duncan's death, nothing or no one has ever made him smile save her.

When the sun was up, the party rose and continued traveling to Redcliffe.


	2. Chapter 2: Before Darkness

Chapter 2: Before Darkness

Being a Grey Warden was about surviving the night—at least that was how Rosamond Cousland thought about it. At night, one dreams of darkspawn and the archdemon or simply lie awake to avoid thinking about the horrors those dreams give. In her dreams, she saw what the darkspawn did to their victims. She tried not to imagine them doing that to her brother as wandered the Korcari Wilds.

As a Grey Warden, she was once more tasked to survive another night, but this time to battle an unknown foe. Redcliffe Village was not an ideal place to defend at night since it had no walls or much military resources. Her father taught her the basics of defense, but they always involved the use of a castle. In their current situation, the said enemy was said to spawn from the castle. Whatever the enemy was, the castle was keeping them away from the arl. Even castles could contain death.

She did all she could: negotiating with the blacksmith to repair the soldiers' armor, rallying more people to fight and finding oil for fire to slow the monsters down. She prayed to the Maker that it would all be enough.

The sun was about to set. From Redcliffe village, the windmill was the best place to view the castle, because it was a place in between. The castle's walls and buttresses towered everything from opposite the windmill. Having lived in one most of her life, she often wondered how people looked at it from outside. From her new viewpoint it looked like it was meant to keep others away who did not belong in it. She almost hated herself for having lived comfortably in one while many others were left to fend for themselves. It was only at that point was she seeing the world's injustices.

She thought about Alistair—how he once used to live in those walls and was later cast away from them. She knew she could hate him for not telling her. It was too much to hope that he could trust her even after she considered him as family, but secrets are secrets—and people usually have good reasons to keep them. Still there was some part of her that was a bit bitter.

She took out a doll that Morrigan gave her. It was only made of rags but it had Alistair's hair on it. Morrigan told her that if she would beat up that doll, perhaps she could knock some sense into him. She did not necessarily believe in this magic that Morrigan has told her about, but if there was some chance of knocking some sense into the fool's head, why not? It was times like those when having a maleficar as a friend was helpful.

She banged its head on the windowsill. _This is for making me bake those cookies at Lothering._

Another bang. _This is for not trusting me and making me an idiot in front of you._

She banged its head one last time. _And that…is for…well, making me feel terrible about doing that to you._

The expressionless doll looked blankly at her that she almost pitied it. It found itself being cradled in her arms as she stared up at the castle once more.

"Not much of a view is it?" Alistair's own voice interrupted her thoughts.

"It is alright. It is larger than Highever, but size is always subjective. One's home always seems smaller."

"True." He leaned on the windowsill on the place beside her. "The last time I saw it, I was a lot younger and grumpier to notice its size. I convinced myself that I was glad to leave it even though I wasn't."

"I'm sorry." As the window was not wide, forcing them to be near each other. She was able to observe the intricacies of his face under the sunlight. Then she noticed three small cuts on his forehead. "Where did you get those?"

"I banged my head on a post. Three times in fact."

Her eyes widened almost in shock. "Oh…oh…"

"The first time was an accident. The next two times were…strangely voluntary as if my head sought to hit that post again."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm really very sorry."

"You don't have to be that sorry, I was…"

"No! It's not that, I didn't mean…ugh! Never mind."

Alistair amusingly watched her distraught face as she bandaged him. He did not know why she was so affected by something he thought was caused by his own stupidity. But if banging his head could bring him that near to her again, he would gladly do it ten more times.

"So what is it?" she asked after she tied the last bandage. "Murdok with new instructions?"

"Nope. Just me sentimentalizing. Back at the monastery, a brother told us that whenever one is sad, one just has to go up to the Maker. I was young then so I took it literally. I climbed the highest tower in the monastery and just kept looking up for hours."

"Did it work?"

"Not in the way I wanted it, but it did. You see, I wanted to get away from the monastery but I couldn't. Since I could not go far away, at least I was able to get far above the world I was made to live in."

"What does this have to do with the windmill?"

"Well, this windmill is the highest point of the village."

"Does that mean that you are unhappy now?"

"Did I say that I was unhappy? In a time like this, no one could be happier."

They passed a next few minutes in silence watching the sunset. If there was no dread of the night, it might have been considered picturesque.

"Why didn't you tell me you were King Maric's son?"

"You…never asked?"

"Fine," was the irritated reply between pouted lips.

A sigh came out from his lips. "Oh all right. If you want the full explanation I'll give it to you." His back found the wall and the space opposite her. "The thing is, I'm used to not telling anyone who didn't already know. It was always a secret. Even Duncan was the only Grey Warden who knew. And then after the battle, when I should have told you…I don't know. It seemed too late by then. How do you just tell someone that?"

"Hmm…how about: 'By the way, do you know I'm heir to the throne?'"

"Yes, well…I suppose part of me kind of liked you not knowing."

"You…you…enjoyed not telling me?! Did you enjoy making an idiot out of me as well? I guess it was too much to hope for you to trust me."

"No! No, it was not because I did not trust you. It's just that anyone who's ever found out has treated me differently afterwards. I was the bastard prince instead of just being Alistair. I know it must sound stupid to you but I hate the way it's shaped my entire life. I never wanted it, and I certainly don't want to be king. The very idea of it terrifies me."

"But that possibility is part of who you are. Even if you don't want it, you don't have much of a choice as that is concerned.

"You can say that again. I don't think I've ever had a choice in the matter. Right from where I was born, all my choices have been made for me."

"Not many of us have choices when it comes to who we are. The important thing is what we do with what is given to us."

"Hmm…it's not like I could do anything. If ever I would do something, it will be what others would want me to do. Like I said, to me it means nothing. I guess I should be thankful that Arl Eamon is far more likely to inherit the throne. If he's alright…I hope he's alright."

Alistair's face sank to his knees. Rosamond forgot all awkwardness. Her hand found his shoulder. Her eyes met his as if they were saying that it would all be alright even though she was not certain herself. She was not sure if she was making it any better, but a slight smile on his lips made her hope.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. I…I guess I was just hoping you would like me for who I am. It was a dumb thing to do."

"Would you believe me if I told you that I do like you as you are? Even if part of me did hate you for not telling me, part of me was glad that you didn't. Otherwise, I would have not known you…as you are." She stopped herself there, because she was being too honest with him. Every time she was with him, she kept forgetting about manners, propriety and etiquette. She was just Rosamond as he was Alistair.

"Truly?"

"Yes, truly."

"Does that mean that you forgive me?"

She laughed. "I'll have to think about that."

"So, about you and princes…"

At that unfinished statement she hastily stood up, her face all red. "Look at the sunset! I have to go down. Now. As in now."

"What are you so excited about?"

"Monsters!" she shouted back as she rushed down the stairs.

A refrain of laughter escaped from him. The monsters were going to be downstairs. He looked at the window and watched the remaining bit of the sun descend below Lake Calenhad.

Darkness was coming. He would face it with her.


	3. Chapter 3: Good Deeds

**Chapter 3: Good Deeds**

"Men are very, very predictable," thought Morrigan as she flashed a seductive smile to the templar who was rowing them across. The response was a change in the rhythm of his rowing: he rowed faster, faster and yet faster. Perhaps men are indeed predictable.

The Circle Tower was an impressive structure that hovered over them as they approached it. She wondered if prisons were always made so grand and tall as to deceive their inhabitants in finding little comforts with the marvelous views the structure might have afforded, or to afford them a more scenic and dramatic death as they fling themselves from its top. She scoffed at that thought, as those pathetic victims do not even deserve pity.

The entrance hall was large and grand as its exterior, yet it showed many signs of agitation. There was something amiss in this structure of madness. As their leader spoke with the Knight-Commander, she noticed several templars eye her with suspicion. She guessed that they knew what she was, but she was unafraid: she baited men like these before and overwhelmed them with Flemeth's help.

The knight-commander glanced in her direction and then their leader. It seemed that their leader was excusing her, defending her again. She frowned. She could defend herself. Their leader was being selfless again. If not for her abilities in battle and coercion, she was a pathetic excuse for a Grey Warden. It was she who Flemeth sent to save the fool and her.

She overheard the templars mention something called the Right of Annulment. From her understanding, it was the right to extinguish all the mages in the tower. Good riddance, she thought. Their leader gestured for them to move along. They had been allowed to enter. As they stepped inside the apprentice quarters' threshold, the great doors loudly shut behind them.

The hallway was littered with many bodies of both templars and mages. By the looks on the dead faces, it seemed that they did not die comfortable deaths. Alistair closed the eyes of one templar while Leliana said a brief prayer for each one. At least their leader had shown some sense in inspecting and looting some of the bodies.

They approached another great door. By the screams and sounds coming from the other side, it seemed that there was a battle ensuing. Their leader kicked the door, in time for them to see an old mage confronting a rage demon. The old mage raised her arms and cast a cold spell on the demon, which sent it sinking under the floor. Morrigan thought that she could have done that better. The old mage recognized their leader.

"It's you! No…come no further. Grey Warden or no, I will strike you down where you stand!"

Their leader gestured them to sheath their weapons. "We are not here to fight you."

"I'll accept that, for now. But what are you doing here?"

Their leader explained that they had been sent there by Greagoir and that the templars were only waiting for the Right of Annullment. This greatly saddened the old mage as it meant her death and the death of those with her. Although the old mage seemed to be familiar with Alistair and their leader, she introduced herself anew as Wynne. She explained that she erected a barrier at the door so that the demons would not hurt the children. She proposed a plan of where they would go through the barrier and rescue the First Enchanter, which their leader immediately agreed to. Preposterous.

"You want us to assist this preachy school-mistress?" Morrigan protested. "To rescue these pathetic excuses for mages? They allow themselves to be corralled like cattle, mindless. Now their masters have chosen death for them, and I say: let them have it."

Their leader frowned. "You know, you could have been one of them if things were different."

"Hmph. If that were so, why, I am sure I would have flung myself from the top of this tower years ago. I will allow neither mind not body be subjugated in such a dehumanizing fashion."

"Not everyone is like you, Morrigan."

"And that is made abundantly clear." She came up the group before her as if she were a judge who was going to decide their fate. "Look how they live, servants of the Chantry. They lack respect for themselves and their own power. Why should I respect them?"

"Everyone deserves respect. Even cruel people like you."

"I— Have it your way."

It was going to be a long trek up.

* * *

Morrigan woke up under a sunless sky. She remembered how she got there: she had foolishly promised to get the boy out and defeat the demon that was tormenting it. Alistair, Irving, and the boy's mother did not like the idea of having a maleficar rescuing the boy. Neither did she, but after being their leader argued that they needed to send their best, there was no refusing her.

She got up and dusted the Fade floor dirt from her robes. Even in dreams, one has to look presentable.

A man's voice broke through the Fade's buzzing silence. "Is that you, Connor?! I can hear you! I'm coming! " Of course the man they had originally come for at Redcliffe was there dreaming.

"Father!" a boy's voice shouted back. "Where are you?

She ran up through a series of hills, spirits and strange outgrowths. By a couple of bookshelves and a few chairs stood a man in a nobleman's attire with a white beard. Remembering the portraits she had seen at Redcliffe, she guessed that man to be the arl.

As she approached him, he addressed her as if she were one of his subjects: asking for his son and cursing the fog that was keeping him from looking for the boy.

She tried to explain that he was in the Fade and that his kind could not navigate through it anymore than one could navigate in a dream. This only confused the arl. She sighed, telling him that she would find the boy as she had already foolishly promised to do so anyway. Like a Fool, he did not believe her. Sigh. Non-mages.

The sound of the boy's voice was a bit faint, but not distant. She followed it until she came to topsy-turvy version of the boy's room. In the way that she knew, she tried to be nice to the boy. The possessed boy however grew hostile, accusing her of poisoning her father before convulsing and turning into a demon. The demon in his place was not powerful, as she seemed only an image of the demon who was possessing the boy. Morrigan found the fight almost effortless. Only a few spells were needed to send the demon into oblivion. Morrigan sought the boy again through the sound of his voice. Everytime she found the boy, she battled a demon each time, threby repeating the process. Each time however, the demon brought more lesser demons with her.

Finally, she was able to draw the demon out hiding. The demon tried to negotiate with her, but she knew better than dealing with demons. The battle that followed would have proven difficult for any mage since the demon was indeed powerful. She was a demon who could multiply images of herself. It took Morrigan several spells to defeat her many forms, but even in the Fade, Morrigan had the strength of a bear, the agility of a spider and the speed of a swarm of locusts. After an extended fight, the demon was finally defeated.

As demon's screams faded, everything around Morrigan grew dark until she was back in a room at Redcliffe castle staring at Rosamond's smiling face. "Thank you, friend," Rosamond's gentle voice whispered. It was the first time she heard that word being used to refer to her.

* * *

Rosamond was able to get tea and biscuits. It was one of the little luxuries that Redcliffe afforded that she could bring. She savored them, even though she knew that tea times were supposed to be before dinner. She gave some of them to Sten, who thought that the tea was merely "interesting." He did enjoy the biscuits though. Wynne and Leliana took tea with her. Morrigan would have come had not the activity accompanied the conversation of the old mage and the fanatic.

Alistair watched her across the fire. If she were not so gluttonous when it came to the biscuits (she finished almost a whole basket after dinner), she would have been the picture of a young noblewoman with her little court around the campfire. As she was taking away the little tea things she collected from the castle, Alistair took one of the makeshift seats that Wynne and Leliana vacated.

Fergus, her dog, pawed at her feet and whined.

"I'm sorry, dear boy. I didn't know you wanted to have tea with us. I thought you were too busy digging. But don't worry: I got some biscuits for you as well."

The dog jumped and barked until Rosamond gave him a biscuit and a tea cup of his own, which he licked at continuously.

"I used to dress him up too, you see," she told Alistair. "Well, until I learned the difference between boys and girls, and that male dogs should not be wearing girly dresses, even though they were dog dresses. I wasn't always allowed to play with daggers, you know. And right up to the time we left Highever, Fergus was still taking his tea before dinner. Isn't that right boy?"

The dog replied in a short bark.

Alistair shook his head. The thought of a mabari in a dress habitually taking afternoon tea was disturbing.

"Tea, Alistair?" she asked, lifting one unused cup.

"No, thank you. I just need to talk to you about Redcliffe."

"Alright," she replied, as she took the seat closest to him, but not before stealing a small cookie and swallowing it whole.

"I just wanted to thank you. You went out of your way to save the arl's family and you did it, even though it would have been easier not to. There's been so much death and destruction, it…well, it makes me feel good that we were able to save something, no matter how small. I owed the arl that much."

She stared at the ground. "You're welcome, I guess. But I think the person you really have to thank is Morrigan. She's the one who went into the Fade to save Connor after all."

"Right. Thanks for reminding me that I owe everything to an evil maleficar who is as creepy a person as the big hairy spider she changes into."

"Connor did not seem to mind. Nor should you. We are a team, Alistair: like it or not, we depend on each others' capabilities even though we cannot fully trust each other."

"Okay, sister. Save your chanting for bedtime."

"It _is_ bedtime." She slipped the little tea set inside her tent and stifled a yawn. "Come to think of it, I did not realize that I haven't slept for almost three nights now. Well, save for that episode in the tower, but that type of sleep is not exactly rejuvenating since I had to wake you up out of your silly dreams, quite literally."

"You thought my dream was _silly_?"

"Well, no. But you did look ridiculous literally eating all that dirt you thought were mince pies."

He made a face.

"Alright, before you start moping I need to give you this." She slipped a silver amulet in his hand. He knew what it was because he never believed that he would find it again. "Your mother had good taste by the way."

"This…this is my mother's amulet. It has to be. But why is it not broken? Where did you find it?"

"The arl's study when Lady Isolde and I were ransacking it for some letters she had containing some information on the Sacred Ashes."

"He must have found it after I threw it at the wall. And he repaired it and kept it? I don't understand, why would he do that?"

She knelt down beside him and lifted his chin so that her honest eyes were meeting his. "Maybe you mean more to him more than you think."

"I…guess you could be right. We never talked much, and then the way I left…"

"It's alright Alistair. Sometimes pain blinds us from seeing things they way they are."

"Thank you. I mean it. I thought I'd lost this to my own stupidity." He carefully hid it in a comfortable place inside his armor. Near his heart. "I'll need to talk to him about this…_when_ he recovers, that is. I wish I'd had this a long time ago." He smiled. He owed her twice now. "Did you remember me mentioning it? Wow. I'm more used to people not really listening when I go on about things."

At this, she turned red. "Well, I…I remembered because you're special to me. And don't think that is—"

He did not listen to her last statement as he found himself suddenly lifting her and twirling her around the campfire. "Where's the minstrels?" he joyfully cried out.

Their laughter echoed as he led her into a silent dance.

Morrigan watched the two figures from the far end of the camp. She could not understand what their leader saw in that fool. She hated the fool with a passion all the more for what Flemeth has asked her to do. Someday, she knew their leader would hate her because of it. Someday.


	4. Chapter 4: Implications

**Chapter 4: Implications**

A/N: Thanks to all those who commented, subscribed and placed my story in their alerts. I'm sorry that this took a long time. I had to catch up with Mass Effect 2, work and life in general. Yeah, Mass Effect 2. My poor Shepard is still recovering from Kaidan. Anyway, to Rosamond and Alistair…

* * *

It is usually wiser to keep one's friends close, and one's enemies closer. Alistair did not think so. It did not help that Zevran, the enemy-turned-ally elven assassin, was eyeing her hips as they were walking the long road to Denerim. He had almost forgotten that Wynne caught him the other day doing the same thing.

He waited a bit so that Rosamond would make as much distance between her, him and the elf, before he posted his question to the overly groomed elf. "So, let me ask you something: what are your intentions with her?"

The elf looked at him dubiously, but not wholly surprised. "You speak of her as if she is not present. She's just right over there, you know." After he cocked his head to her direction, Alistair noticed that his eyes were tracing her figure.

"Don't dodge the question! I'm serious!"

His agitation got Zevran's full attention at least. Now Zevran was the one eying him suspiciously. "Is this brotherly concern I detect, or something else?" The elf's wily hands crept to his armor protected shoulders. Zevran's face almost seductively inched closer to his own. "Perhaps you are concerned for me, yes?"

The elf was definitely not serious. Alistair, with all his self-control, removed the sly hands away from him. With a forbidding look, he warned the elf to step away from him, which the elf wisely did. The best defense, he remembered, as an offense. "I'm just asking what your intentions are. You did try to kill us all remember?"

"And now I owe her a blood debt as she has spared my life. It has brought us closer together." The elven lips twitched into a suggestive smile. No, of course she wouldn't especially with him, or would she?

"Is that a smirk? Are you smirking at me?!"

The elf's smile grew even wider. "I assure you sir that I am not smirking. No smirking here, no!"

"Well, just…watch yourself!" He pointed a metal gloved accusing finger at the elf. "I will be keeping an eye on you."

A snicker escaped from the elf's mouth. "Do we detect a bit of jealousy there? Feeling territorial are we?"

Before he could protest, a familiar figure stood right in front of them with her arms crossed. "Is everything alright back here?"

"Yes, we were just talking about you."

No…he wouldn't dare.

"You look so tired, my dear. All this walking…I think I know what you need."

"A horse?"

"Yes, exactly my dear. Don't you think it would be interesting to have something to hump?"

"You do have a point…"

Alistair could not believe his ears, until he saw her serious face. Even though he lacked the…experience, he did know what the elf was implying.

"We could not only use a horse, but a carriage as well. Is something wrong Alistair?"

By now, she had obviously noticed his incredulous expression. His mouth almost flew open that she did not understand what the elf was suggesting.

"No, no. I am just…I think I need to…recover a bit."

"You will get enough rest after sunset. For now, we have to keep moving if we want to reach Denerim by tomorrow." She sighed. "But yes, a horse would be nice."

By this time, the back of their small caravan had caught up to them. Bodahn's cart halted beside them. "Well, madam," said the middle aged dwarf. "Part of our service would be to provide you some measure comfort while traveling, especially because you are our most valued customer. We have some space in our cart to fit most of you."

Very soon, all of them save Fergus, were in the cart. Rosamond sat in between Alistair and Zevran. The sun was starting to go down. Alistair noticed that she had become awfully quiet. Her eyes were staring at the empty road. Soon, her eyes were blinking. Her head was starting to nod. Alistair knew that she had not been sleeping well, probably because of the nightmares. It was going to be alright, he thought. She could rest her weary head on his shoulder. His arms would protect her, even though he knew that she did not really need protecting. As her head was about to fall on his shoulder, the elf's hands caught her face and rested it on his own shoulders. As she let out a gentle sigh, the elf's lips widened to a satisfied smile.

Alistair did not enjoy the ride at all.

* * *

The camp was quiet that night. Morrigan was voraciously reading the grimoire Rosamond gave her. Sten sat quietly, hopefully not playing the same game he was playing while in his cage at Lothering. Leliana was inserting feathers into new arrows. Wynne was stitching an old garment of Alistair. Fergus was digging. Zevran was demonstrating something to Rosamond that involved daggers and lots of staring. Alistair's eyes, from the other side of camp, were throwing daggers at the elf. The worst part of it was that Rosamond seemed to be enjoying herself.

The night drew on. Zevran retired to his tent, but not before throwing Rosamond a suggestive wink. Rosamond just shook her head and smiled, before taking the seat beside Alistair who was given the watch that night. The truth was that Alistair volunteered just so that he could watch the elf.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself," Alistair said, trying not to sound too grumpy or jealous. Thankfully, Rosamond did not catch his tone.

"Yes, I am. I do love daggers and knife training. Sharp objects, as Zevran called them. But Zevran told me that someday, I would eventually get stabbed. Then he gave me that weird look. That is why I don't trust him…yet."

Alistair shook his head. She truly did not understand what the elf was implying. He found some comfort and a little amusement at her innocence. At least, she did not fully trust the elf. It made him wonder if all noble ladies were as sheltered as she was.

"Still, I like him. He taught me some assassination skills. He also offered to massage my feet one of these days, and I agreed. Maybe we could all have—"

"Stop!" Alistair interrupted, trying to maintain his self-control. "Do you even understand what you are saying?"

Rosamond's defensive innocent eyes stared at him for a while. "Why, yes. I'm talking about massages."

"Do you know what else comes with massages in Antivan whorehouses?" He placed a stress on that last word.

"Oh….Oh." At last she turned red.

"That's what he was implying. And about the stabbing…"

"Stop!" Rosamond almost shouted. "I do _not_ want to hear about it."

"Good for you."

There was silence for a few minutes, until her voice broke it. "So…uh…since you were raised in the Chantry, have you never…?" Her voice trailed off. Her head was bowed down. She was bringing up that discussion. Again.

His lips broadened to a sly smile. It was his turn to have fun. "Never…? Never what? Had a good pair of shoes?"

"Don't play dumb. You know _exactly_ what I mean." He enjoyed watching her cheeks deepen into another shade of red.

"I'm not sure I do. Have I never seen a basilisk? Ate jellied ham? Have I never licked a lamppost in winter?"

"Forget I asked. Mother would certainly decapitate me. And now you're making fun of me!"

"Make fun you, dear lady? Perish the thought." He searched her embarrassed eyes and inched his face close to hers. He was having too much fun to drop the subject. "Well, tell me: have _you_ ever licked a lamppost in winter?" He said that last sentence suggestively. This time, she did not miss the innuendo.

She bowed her head again. "Well…no."

At that, he was quite relieved. Hers was still intact. "Good, I hear it's quite…painful."

"Really?"

"Yes, well…I remember one of the younger initiates did it on a dare once, and there was pointing and laughing…oh, the humanity."

"What about _you_?"

He had been hoping to dodge that question. "No. I have never done…it. That. Not that I haven't thought about it, of course, but…you know."

"Okay." She smiled. She seemed less uncomfortable now. "I guess castles and chantries don't give us much…opportunity. I have never thought about doing it unless, it would be with the person I would be with forever."

"You believe in forever?"

"Of course I do. Mother and Father had their forever until they…"

"Sorry." He watched her intently, expecting her to cry. Surprisingly, she did not cry. In fact, she was smiling a bit.

"No, it is alright. Mother chose to die with Father because she loved him…to her last breath. It makes me wonder…"

"What?"

"If I would love someone the same way…" His eyes met hers. He wondered if she was thinking of someone. If so, he wondered who that someone was. She broke his gaze, when she changed to her usual steely exterior that he had now learned as her defense against many things—embarrassment being one of them. "What did the chantry teach you about forever?"

"Well, the Chantry does encourage forever for…procreation. But the Chantry did teach me to be a gentleman, especially in the presence of beautiful women such as yourself. That's not so bad, is it?"

"No, I am not beautiful. I am dazzling."

"I know." Indeed, to him, she was truly dazzling. "Not to mention ravishing, resourceful, just so you would not hurt me for not saying…"

"I would never hurt you, Alistair."

"Nor I you, Rosamond." Their eyes met again as if making a silent promise. Then she yawned. Of course, she had to break the moment. He laughed. "Be off then. Go to sleep, lest your risqué talk make my ears blush."

"You know I can't sleep."

"Sleep here with me, then"

She shot him a threatening look.

"Sorry. I did it mean it like that. That came out wrong…"

A few minutes later, Fergus brought a few blankets with his teeth. Rosamond lay on one, and draped one blanket over her head. That was how she came to sleep, if not with him, then beside him. He did not mind that at all.


	5. Chapter 5: Pilgrimage

**Chapter 5 – Pilgrimage**

A/N: Thanks for the reviews. Sorry for the brief hiatus. I had to catch up with some things. Anyway, here is the next installment. I found this chapter harder to write than the ones before. Don't worry about the next one as I have already written some parts of it. The next chapter is getting long so I might have to divide them into parts or more chapters.

_9:30 Dragon_

_Location: Camp, on the road to Haven_

_There are dreams that one tries to follow, even in nightmares._

_Father once told me how fell in love with mother. She was a bann's daughter. He had met her in a ball. After deciding that she was pretty enough, he decided to court her in grandfather's household, but she escaped several times. Mother did not know it, but he stalked her as she went out almost every night in her battle armor. One day, she noticed him. She allowed him to follow her. They had many adventures together, fighting ogres, bandits and even darkspawn._

_I do not know if that is true, but in dreams I follow them, hoping they would lead me home. But I always lose them. In my dreams, I never get home._

_In my dreams there is always fire, darkspawn, demons and the archdemon._

_But even if I only have nightmares and even if I may never get to dream good dreams, there are some realities that one wakes up to that are not so bad. When I wake up, there is always Alistair smiling at me_.

Rosamond placed her pen down as she wrote that last sentence. She stole a glance near the fire where Alistair was speaking with Fergus. She remembered that one of the things that helped her out of her nightmare in the Tower (aside from a brief memory flash of what happened before the dream) was the thought of him. Alistair was part of her reality. Yes, she thought, there is always Alistair.

Alistair caught her glance. He smiled back.

* * *

Rosamond held Fergus's leash as Wynne scrubbed lather on the dog's back. Dogs are usually fidgety, but they are usually calmer as long as their masters are with them. The dog that Wynne was bathing was warm, intelligent, loyal, and gluttonous just like its master.

Many people sometimes wondered why an unlikely band of individuals followed a young woman, who was probably barely twenty or even younger (she never told any of them her actual age). Wynne sometimes wondered too, but the moment she saw the young Grey Warden at Ostagar, she knew that there was something special in that girl. One would probably think that an old benevolent spirit—very much like the spirit guiding her—had possessed the girl. Even though the girl was not a mage, she was able to navigate through the dream that the sloth demon placed them into. She defeated one of the most powerful mages of the Circle. No mere child could do that.

Yet for all her skills and accomplishments, her single-mindedness, she had at least one weakness that those close to her knew about. That weakness concerned the other Grey Warden in their group. Wynne understood this weakness, for she once had fallen in love herself. She knew what that had cost her.

The dog tried to shake off the water Wynne poured on him. Rosamond backed off a bit, but it was too late. She was drenched all over, so was Wynne. She scratched the dog's ear. "Naughty boy. Easy. Wynne will be done soon." As she was rubbing off some water that got into one of her eyes, one eye caught Alistair's glance.

Alistair guiltily looked away. Rosamond wondered what was so offensive.

As if reading her mind, Wynne answered, "Wet frocks."

"Pardon?"

"Never mind, dear." Wynne poured another bucket of water onto the dog and scrubbed off some of the soap.

Rosamond stole a glance at Alistair again. He was warning himself by the fire, pretending not to watch her. She wanted to know what he was thinking. They were not able to see Goldanna, when they went to Denerim. There was no time. They had to leave the city quickly to catch up with Brother Genetivi and whoever was after his life. Maker willing, they would not be too late. She promised Alistair that as soon as they find the Sacred Ashes, they would travel back to Denerim. Alistair was inconsolable for a few nights that she got worried. It was Wynne who assured her that he would be alright: he just needed to be left alone. Wynne's prediction was correct. In a few days, he was laughing and smiling again as if nothing happened. Still, Rosamond wondered what was so unpleasant with wet frocks.

Wynne cleared her throat. She was already towel-drying the dog and Rosamond's head was obviously on the other side of the camp. "You are quite taken with each other aren't you?"

"Sorry?" She tried to look like she did not understand what the old woman was saying, but Wynne was too wise to be deceived.

"Dear, it is hard not to notice the doe eyes looks he gives you especially when he thinks that no one's watching. It's almost too sweet for my tastes, and I'm an old lady who should be making lace hearts and fuzzy blankets with animal motifs."

"I don't think you are an average old lady, but if you wanted to embroider for me, don't let me stop you."

"No: I won't be making socks with pompoms for you anytime soon. But that is hardly my point. I've noticed your blossoming relationship, and I wanted to ask you where you thought it was going."

"Where I thought it _was_ going?"

By this time, Fergus had shaken off most of the water that clung to his fur and ran off. Wynne motioned Rosamond to sit by her. "Alistair is a fine lad, skilled in battle but quite inexperienced when it comes to affairs of the heart, and so are you. I would hate to see him get hurt."

"I would never hurt him. I promised him."

"I know you, dear. I do not think you would intentionally hurt him. But you are both Grey Wardens, and he is the son of a king. You have responsibilities which supersede your personal desires."

"And I will not let my feelings get in the way of doing my duty."

"I hope so. Love is ultimately selfish. It demands one to be devoted to a single person who may occupy one's mind and heart, to the exclusion of all else. A Grey Warden cannot afford to be selfish. You may be forced to make a choice between saving your love and saving everyone else, and then what would you do?"

"I do not want to ever make that choice."

"No one does, but if you do not choose, life will decide for you. Often, it will not be the one you would want. Nothing is certain, not in these times. You cannot take anything for granted."

"Indeed nothing is certain. I am not even certain if I love him."

"But you have feelings for him?"

Rosamond did not answer. Instead, she stared blankly at the distant fire. "Life is so unfair." If not for the bitterness of her words, one could hardly tell that she felt anything.

Wynne draped her arm around the girl. She only had to be cruel to be kind to the girl, yet there was something inside her that felt something like guilt. "Believe me dear, it is for the best."

Rosamond did not cry, but Wynne rocked her small body in her arms. She once carried a small fragile body like this in her arms, but it was taken away from her. Often, she had wondered what had happened to that little child if she had kept and protected it. _No,_ she thought, _this one will not be hurt further because of me._

_

* * *

  
_

_Achoo!_

Morrigan sneezed as she dusted off Ash wraith remains on her thick dark rags. She was asked a religious question. Of course she got it wrong.

Alistair was laughing his head off. She wanted to send a stone from her staff flying to his head, when Rosamond's palm slapped the back of his head. Served him right.

"What was _that _for?!" Alistair grumbled as he rubbed the back of his head.

"Just keep moving," Rosamond ordered as she led the way to the next room. Morrigan was starting to like their leader. Fortunately, the redheaded Chantry fanatic answered the other questions correctly so they did not have to worry about answering all the riddles.

The massive wooden door automatically opened when the wraith was defeated. Although there was no fire anywhere in the area, the temple's humid atmosphere allowed droplets of sweat to form on Morrigan's forehead. The temple was indeed a place of magic that amazed the three pilgrims with her. Poor dead woman fanatics.

Rosamond had barely stepped inside the next room when she stopped to her tracks. At the end of the room, there was a middle-aged man, or rather the spirit of one, dressed in fine clothes. He had a tender expression Morrigan had never seen in anyone. Rosamond knew who it was.

"Father!" she exclaimed, rushing to embrace him. As she was about to take him in his arms, she went through him as if he were thin air and fell to the ground. Stupid.

Morrigan had noticed Alistair's look of concern as he watched Rosamond pick herself up from the ground. He was about to rush to her side when the tip of Leliana's bow blocked his way. Rosamond had to pick herself up alone.

The spirit tenderly caressed Rosamond's hair as if he could touch it.

"I missed you, Father," she whispered as small tears formed on her child-like emerald eyes. "There are so many things I want to tell you, to ask you. Right now, I feel so lost."

"Pup. You know that you cannot bring me back. No more must you grieve. Take the pain and the guilt, acknowledge it, and let go. It is time."

"But without you, how do I know where to go?"

"You will know where I am if you follow this…" The spirit touched Rosamond's chest where her heart was. Rosamond might not have felt anything, but she closed her eyes as if she did and reopened them. Morrigan shot a defensive glare at the spirit as he stole a gazed for a minute in her direction. Only a minute later did she realize that the spirit was not looking at her but the dumbstruck fool beside her.

"But what about duty? I cannot forget that simply because…because…"

"You will find your way. You have such a long road ahead of you, and you must be prepared. Farewell, my daughter. Know that I love you."

The spirit was starting to fade, when she reached out to grab its untouchable robes. "Don't go. Just a few seconds longer, Father. I want you to smile at me."

The spirit did so, giving one of the tenderest smiles Morrigan had ever seen. He planted a light kiss on Rosamond's forehead before he disappeared completely. When Rosamond opened her hand, a gold ring appeared, glistening in the darkness.

"I will try to follow, even though it may hurt."

Rosamond's audience watched in awe. Morrigan had no father, neither had Alistair and Leliana. She often thought of fathers as tyrannical ego-maniac gods. But if some fathers were like Rosamond's, for a moment, she thought she wanted one. But that was just a moment.

Rosamond wiped the remnants of her tears with her leather gloved-hands. Alistair tried to put an arm around her, but a hand defensively shoved it away. "I am done crying."

* * *

The camp was solemn after the pilgrims came back to it. For hours, Leliana sang about the Maker and his bride. Morrigan slept soundly, exhausted from the pilgrmage. At least the grizzly is hibernating, Alistair thought. Rosamond sat her usual place wrapped in a thick blanket near the fire massaging Fergus' fur, listening to Leliana's ballads.

Rosamond had barely spoken to him in days, ever since they were nearing Haven. It was as if the cold had made her into an ice queen. Something was wrong. He tried to understand what happened in the pilgrimage, or the look the spirit gave him, but he couldn't. Still, he was not giving up on her, because she never gave up on him.

With a bag of biscuits, he took a seat beside her. Rosamond unaffectedly eyed him for a moment before resuming her fireside meditations, whatever they were. She pretended not to notice the small chocolate biscuit Alistair took out from the bag and ate.

"I'll give you one if you tell me what you're thinking."

She ignored him.

He swallowed another one, but not before dangling it to her face.

"Two?"

Still no response. Alistair sighed. Not only was she becoming like Morrigan, she was also becoming like the creepy giant who was on the watch that night.

"Wh-- abou- thri--?" he mumbled as he was chewing the third.

At this, he finally saw her mouth briefly pout at him. "Do not talk with your mouth full."

After swallowing his fourth biscuit, he felt something stuck in his throat, choking him. "Wa—Water."

He did not see her go, but barely a minute later, he heard her quick light footsteps running towards him. He felt water being poured to his lips. As if he was dreaming, he heard her musical laughter again.

He was not dreaming. When he opened his eyes, the fire's glow illuminated the light curves on her smiling face.

"Oh Alistair, what am I going to do with you? Idiot."

He did not like being called names, but since it was her, he did not mind. What would he do without her?

"I dunno. Send me out to fight darkspawn in my small clothes? Lend me a dress and make me dance the Remigold?"

"The latter, I believe. I had many pretty dresses."

She examined the biscuit bag that fell on the cold grass. "You should not be eating too much. We have just come from a pilgrimage."

"But don't pilgrims feast after pilgrimages?"

"Good point, but you have one cookie left." At this, she took out one slightly cracked cookie and handed it to him. "You can have it."

"No you have it."

"You have given it to me, I am giving it back to you."

"And back to you."

Without warning, she threw the cookie in the air where Fergus's huge hungry mouth caught it. Another smile played on her slight lips. "Always give your last cookie to someone you care about."

He did not find out what she was thinking about, but at least he knew, that in her own way, she did care for him. Maybe someday, she would allow him to care for her, to protect her. Maybe someday.

Rosamond added more wood to the fire a few hours later. Alistair fell asleep on the blankets she laid for herself by the fire. She neither blamed him because it was warm there, nor minded that he took what was supposed to be hers. She may not be able to give her heart to him, but at least she could give him that. He tossed a bit as she lay another blanket on him.

Under the dim firelight, she wrote:

_My heart is hard to follow, but I know it leads me to him. I may not allow myself to love him, but I will always care for him as a friend and sister. A sister. That is the closest I could get even though I may never be content with that. But as a sister, I will always protect him. I will do everything so that he could be happy._

_This I swear to you, Father._


	6. Chapter 6: Champion

Chapter 6: Champion

Memories kept flooding back to Alistair like torrential rain as he walked the halls of Redcliffe Castle. He spent at least nine years of his life there. He did not remember all of it, but since he remembered the times he accidentally locked himself in the dungeon as happy times, maybe they weren't too happy.

As he passed by the armory, he saw a vision of Cailan passing a younger version of him by, obviously more interested in swords than wards—even though that ward is his brother. A dark haired boy followed his brother, closing the armory off to themselves. His younger self would have followed him, but he was afraid. His younger self always played on the safe side to avoid being hurt. He still did.

Then, he saw her: a red headed girl in a pink gown with a miniature stone golem and mabari pup. She flashed him a slightly arrogant smile as she tugged her sleeve. "What are you crying there for, you stupid boy? Come, play with us."

"Go away!" he screamed. It was bad enough that a girl saw him crying.

"Suit yourself." With that, she backed away but not after leaving the miniature golem in front of him. "Her name is Dolya. I think she wants to be your friend."

That was his first golem. He had lost it also during the time he lost his mother's amulet, but he had never forgotten its giver. Perhaps in better circumstances, he would have been nicer to her. She deserved better.

The visions quickly vanished as he felt a small hand pulling his armor-clad arm. "Hey! Hey! HEY!" Without warning, her small hand wacked the back of his head, almost knocking him over. Rosamond did not hit like normal girls.

"You slapped me!"

"You deserved it." Her hands found her small hips. "I was about to call a servant to splash cold water on you. What in Thedas are you doing daydreaming in the middle of a hallway?"

Still massaging the sore back of his head, he flashed her one of his most charming smiles. "I am sorry, milady." His other hand pinched her small nose. "It won't happen again."

"It better not. Come, they are waiting for you."

"Next time I'll wear a helm."

"Next time, I'll bring a maul."

He followed her down to the main hall, taking her hand so that he would not lose her a second time.

* * *

The night was clearly over. As she rode around Redcliffe and its surrounding regions rallying the arl's allies, people were looking up to her, calling her "hero" and "champion." A feast was being prepared in her honor. It was different from the respect that she commanded when she was Lady Cousland. Lady Cousland was respected her because of her title and her father's fame. A champion of Redcliffe was being respected for what she had done. People looked up to her as an ally and friend. As for Lady Cousland, some people were afraid to come to her for fear of offending her or her father. She was still a Cousland, but she had become Redcliffe's champion.

A guard saluted her as she dismounted her horse. "The arl wishes to see you milady."

A nod was enough to thank him. She proceeded directly to the arl's study where he was waiting for her. He had just finished sealing a letter when she came in. "Ah, perfect timing my dear," he said as he gave the letter to a servant, who instantly made his exit. "Please, sit."

Rosamond pulled a chair and placed it near the arl's desk. She was silent, for some time, and like a schoolgirl being called by a schoolmaster, for either punishment or commendation. In her case, it was the latter. "Is everything alright, sir?"

"Fine, since you have rid this castle of monsters and most of the surrounding regions of darkspawn. And Isolde told me that I have you to thank for sorting out some of my letters."

"I used to sort out my father's papers. Besides, your brother did most of the work. He is a worthy man."

"I have no doubt he is. He is my brother. As for you, your father must have been proud to have such a secretary and champion."

"Thank you, sir, but most fathers are often biased about their children, especially mine."

"That is true. Connor has not yet been sent to the Circle, yet I am proud of him already."

"I am sure he will be a great mage someday. He had almost given his life to save yours."

"Yes, but his sacrifice is not something any father would wish. No good father would want his child to die for him. It should have been the other way around."

There was sadness in the arl's eyes as he said those words. For a moment, Rosamond thought that it was her father speaking. At his words, almost all her regrets at leaving her own father had gone. "Your words give me comfort, sir. I had often wondered at how it would have been if I had been left at Highever instead of my father and mother."

At this, the arl smiled at her, taking her small hands. "Any father would lay his life down, especially for a daughter such as you."

"You are very kind, your lordship."

He chuckled and released her hands. "There is no need to be so formal. You are the teyrna of Highever, and as such, I should be the one addressing you with such formality."

"Actually, my brother is the one currently holding the title…wherever he is. Besides, I am a Grey Warden. Titles should not matter to us. And my mother would probably disown me if I did not show…wiser people proper respect."

The arl laughed once more. Indeed, he had heard of her mother's beauty and sharp tongue in his youth. Her daughter, before him, had unknowingly acquired some of those characteristics. "Perhaps. But you may need your title in the days to come. As Bryce Cousland's daughter, you could command half the banns' allegiance as your father did, even though we have reports about Howe claiming your title for himself. There have been reports of some banns remaining loyal to you and the king, secretly. Maker rest his soul."

At the mention of the name of her father's murderer, her hand clenched into a fist even though her face did not betray any emotion.

"Howe will have his dues, but that is not why I have invited you here." His hand reached for an unsealed letter in his drawer and handed it to her.

Her eyes quickly scanned the contents of the letter. "This letter tells of an insurrection in the south. When did you receive this?"

"Just this afternoon. I have already sent some of my knights, but I think they need more than that. There may still be time to save those villagers from Loghain's men."

"I shall set out at dawn, my liege." She got up, bowing before turning to leave.

"I want Alistair to go, not you, and I need you to ask him."

"Why?"

"Because I need him to see what is at stake if he doesn't become king."

"Yes, but why do you need me to ask him? …sir."

"Because he follows you."

"But Alistair respects you, loves you even as if you were his own father."

"Be that as it may, but I have done him more harm than good. I deserve to be hated by him."

"He doesn't hate you, although he wanted to have been loved as a son."

He gestured her to sit once more, which she obeyed. "You don't think that I loved him as a son?"

"I believe you to be capable of many good things, but I cannot guess your feelings."

"My dear, more than a great many things, I wanted him to know how much I wanted him as a son. But I had a wife, and my own son. Whenever I tried to show Alistair that I loved him, it greatly affected them. It hurt them. There is much that I regret. You understand, don't you?"

She nodded. She may not have understood what it meant to be a father, but she knew what it was to have one's heart divided.

"It is strange that I am telling you this."

"No, it is alright. I feel very honored that you have decided to confide in me."

"I am glad we had this conversation."

"So am I…you liege." Before she left, she paused by the door. Turning back to him, she said, "You can still tell him and show him that you love him. The Maker has given him back to you."

The door was left slightly open when she left. His old hands took a small portrait of his family from his drawer. His eyes examined Isolde's graceful Orlesian features and the infant Connor, who was sleeping in her arms. He was there standing beside them, the family man. There was a blank space beside him. Perhaps, if Alistair filled that small space, the picture would have been complete.

He had many regrets, but he dared to hope on what she said.

* * *

Alistair was practicing with his sword and shield by the lake when Rosamond found him. Although she could have approached him directly, she had chosen to remain in the shadows, watching him. His shield bashed an imaginary opponent while he swung his sword to follow it up. She knew it took great skill to handle a shield. That shield had saved her many times.

"How long have you been standing there?" he asked when he was finally able to detect her presence.

"Long enough for an assassin to sneak over and decapitate you."

"And where did you learn that?"

"Zevran," she admitted as she came out of the shadows and sauntered to him.

"Ah, him. Figures." His lips curved into a naughty smile.

"And I did not learn anything else! You pervert!"

"Just checking."

"Listen, as much as I enjoy your ingenious accusations, there is a village down south that is being raided by Loghain's men."

"So we are going to save the day once more. Alright, let's go."

He was about to head down to the stables when her words stopped him. "Actually, I am not going with you. The arl wants _you_ to lead the rescue."

"What? Me? Why?"

"He said he wants you to see what Ferelden could be like if you do not become king."

"Great. That again. Why does everyone have to force this king issue on me? I have told you many times: I am no leader, least of all a king."

"You're willing to sacrifice an entire village just because you do not _want_ to be king?"

"I…" He sighed. "You're right. Of course you are right. I am just being spoiled, selfish, and yes, stupid. No need to add that to my list thank you very much."

"You're not really _that _stupid, Alistair. You did see some sense after all. You have the heart of a servant. That, I believe, makes a great king."

"Wow. A compliment. From you."

"I mean it, you are kind, generous, humble, and all those other things many banns or arls do not have."

"More compliments. I could get used to this."

"Don't let it get to your head."

"I wasn't." He nervously started pacing to and fro.

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Uhh…since you have managed to successfully talk me into leading, I need you to promise me three things."

"Okay, one."

He stopped pacing to face her directly. "Let me process this king thing by on my own."

"I think I can handle that. Two."

"Be nice to me, at least once in a while."

"I am always nice to you."

He raised one eyebrow. "Less nagging. I get enough bashing from Morrigan."

"I'll try. Last one."

"A dress at the feast. Three dances and whatever I have to say to you during the feast, I want you to completely hear me out."

"Wait. That's five."

"Whatever."

"Why is my wearing a dress so important? I could present myself better as a champion in an armor."

"A dress," he demanded.

"Fine. And what is the seemingly important thing you are going to tell me at the feast? Why can't you it to me now?"

"Let's just say I want to wait at the opportune moment."

"Alright. I'll give that to you, but mind you, I do not like waiting. I'll be generous about granting that five to you."

"Great! To the south, then!" he exclaimed and started marching towards the stables.

"Wait!" she called out, running after him. "It's madness to go riding out in the dark. You don't want to be ambushed by darkspawn."

"I know, but it is best to get everything ready before dawn."

"What made you so excited?"

"I just have something to look forward to, that's all."

She shook her head as she accompanied him to the stables.

* * *

Fire. Dark tunnels. Darkspawn. The archdemon. It called out to her to unleash havoc in the lands of Ferelden. She almost did join the horde until she realized who she was. She was a Grey Warden. Her mission was to stop the Blight. Lothering had fallen. The Blight was spreading north, east and west. Time was starting to run out.

She awoke at the sound of horses in the courtyard. It was dawn. From her window, she could see Wynne, Sten and Leliana mounting horses. They were setting off without saying goodbye to her! Quickly, she wrapped a shawl around herself, as she was wearing a nightgown provided for her, and ran to the courtyard.

Leliana patted her pure black stallion. "You are a beautiful animal. They write many songs about your kind, you know. Especially you dark ones. Let me see, there's Tornado, Zo—"

"Where is Alistair?" Rosamond demanded.

"He has gone inside looking for you."

Forgetting to thank her, Rosamond raced back inside the castle. She almost bumped into him as he was coming out of the main hall. She knew what she wanted to say, but when the time came for her to say it, she just stood silent.

"I did not want to leave without saying goodbye to you."

She smiled. "Thank goodness you remembered me."

"Who wouldn't? I—" He stopped when he felt her slip something in his hand. When he examined it, he saw that it was a white runestone.

"It was my father's. He kept it for luck and then gave it to me for my first hunting trip. I want you to have it."

"Thank you." He clenched it in his hand.

He did not know what possessed him to do it, but as the first ray of sunlight touched her eyes and unbraided hair, he suddenly tilted his head and kissed her. She did not move. He expected any minute to get knocked down by a punch, but that punch never came. Instead, she let his lips linger on hers, in what seemed like forever to him. Time stopped, at least for him.

When she pulled away, her eyes remained closed. "You'd better go."

"Right." Although he said that, his eyes lingered on her face that was illuminated by daylight. He came to his senses when footfalls made my metal boots were marching to the entrance, to where they were. He did not say anything else as he hastily strode outside, mounted his horse and rode off.

Time had frozen for Rosamond as well. It was her first kiss. A group of knights marched by her, but she did not hear them or see them. She saw only him.

* * *

The day passed too slowly for Rosamond. Alistair was taking too long. To her, waiting for him was like being frozen for a hundred years under a scorching sun with one's arms up. Thankfully, Rosamond's imagination did not include pigeons, or else she would be able to relate too much to Shale.

That afternoon, she was called to the arl's study once more. The arl met her himself by his study door. "My dear, there is someone inside who you would be delighted to see."

Alistair! That was what her mind and thought cried out, but as she opened the door, she was surprised by a hooded man standing by the fire. It was not Alistair. When the man removed his hood, she threw her arms around him as she instantly recognized him.

"Dairren!"


	7. Chapter 7: Mother, Part 1

**Chapter 7 – Mother, Part 1**

A/N: Please forgive the hiatus. It was unintentional as I had many deadlines and commitments for the past months that I almost lost the story. Now it's back. I had struggled with this chapter a bit. Originally, I wanted to just take a victorious Alistair into Redcliffe but I figured that I wanted to do something more. I also found it a pity that Alistair never got to know his mother so I wrote this. This chapter gets a few ideas from _The Calling_ and assumes that Fiona is Alistair's mother. Dairren is not in this chapter but he will be in the next one. My whole draft went over 4000 words so I decided to split this chapter in two parts.

Writing this, I find myself getting frustrated with my repetitive writing style. English is not my first language but I do my best. With luck and some dedication, I can probably improve. Any suggestion especially when it comes to style would be most welcome.

* * *

"Do you think your mother is religious?" asked Rosamond one night while most of the group sat on the campfire, the firelight softly kissing her almost celestial features. She had probably noticed how often he sat for hours just looking at his mother's amulet—something he recovered thanks to her.

"Probably," was his reply. He never knew his mother. They said she died when he was born.

"Or," Morrigan suggested, stoking the fire with her staff. "Maybe she was a crafty dark-haired mage who the king encountered in one of his adventures. That amulet may be part of some kind of cover-up. In that case, your mother may be in my line of thinking."

Alistair shot back, "If my mother were like you, I'd rather that I had not been born."

"That so? If I were your mother, I would rather give birth to a toad rather than have one like you for a son."

"I bet any children of yours would be toads."

"Alistair, do you think we have some cheese left?" asked Rosamond, trying to interrupt them before a fight breaks out.

"Maybe if their father is a cheese-eating toad."

"Or, your mother could be an elf." Out of the shadows came Zevran, joining them round the fire. The sound of leaves being crushed under his sandals as he approached were the only sounds that broke the silence that ensued from his suggestion.

Alistair glared. "Do I look elvish to you?"

"No, but I know from Antivan whores that children from their human lovers always look human."

"Right, and I am a mabari."

Fergus growled. _Great, now even dogs disown me._

The dog whimpered when it received a disapproving look from its master. Rosamond cleared her throat and stood up, all eyes around the fire were redirected to her. "Whatever Alistair is or whoever his parents are, Alistair is my adopted brother and I love him."

Her eyes met his. Even the wind did not make a sound. Rosamond hastily sought the nearest blanket and sat again. Under the firelight, Alistair could tell that her cheeks went red.

"As a brother, of course. And this, I am not ashamed to say in front of all of you: Alistair, know that I will always be there whenever you need me. Always remember that."

Remember. Remember. But her image and her was fading into the darkness he was falling into.

* * *

The grass around Alistair was wet. It smelt like blood. It was his blood. A lot of his blood and some others. In his vision flickered a grassy wheat field littered with a few Tevinter mages' bodies, lit by half a moon in the sky. His bloodied hands fumbled for a white runestone on the grainy soil. It was not there.

He got up and scanned the battlefield. Beside a dead mage's body glistened a white stone. Slowly, he crawled to it. Upon grasping it, he let his body fall to the ground again. Rosamond had told him that that was his father's lucky stone. He certainly needed some luck now.

He tried to remember how he got there. An elven village raided by Tevinter mages. Surprise at the arl's social experiment and Loghain's cruelty. Humans taking over shops. Elves being dragged away from their homes by Loghain's soldiers. Wynne exhausted. Sten growling. Leliana melancholy but determined. A plan to distract the soldiers while the others escape with the elves. Him being Leliana's 'captive.' A plan foiled. A fight. Failure. All of them getting captured. Him being taken out to be tortured to death. Him grabbing a soldier's shield and making one last desperate fight. A fireball coming from nowhere and then darkness. It was becoming clear now.

If this was death, he could not blame himself for trying. Clearly he was not fit to be king. Once he is dead, he wondered, if Rosamond would shed tears for him even if he knew she had always tried never to shed tears especially for those she cared about. Life stinks a lot more than smelly cheese.

Just when he was about to pass out again, a small red hooded figure stooped to look at his face. In the darkness, he could not see her face. Her. At least by her hands, he could guess that the figure was a woman. Her touch was tender. The way she smoothened his face made him thought of his mother as if he ever really had one to remember. Wrapping him with a cloak, she extended her hand and whispered something. Soon, his bleeding stopped. Even though he could still feel the pain of his broken rib, there was an instant relief.

"Wynne?" he addressed the figure.

The figure remained silent. Suddenly, blue light flashed from its eyes. She was a Grey Warden and a mage.

"Stand up," she commanded. "The darkspawn are upon us."

With one arm, she pulled him up. The effort caused her hood to fall, revealing her to be a middle-aged dark haired elf. He had not seen her before, yet she looked somewhat familiar to him.

"Over there!" From where she pointed emerged four genlocks. "Two on four." She smiled. "A fair fight. That is, boy, if you can take care of the other two."

He nodded. Whoever this Grey Warden was, he knew he could trust her.

The darkspawn snickered as they attacked. Alistair charged to bash one with his shield, knocking it to the ground. Once it was on the ground, it was easy enough to plunge his sword into its heart whether it truly had one. A cone of ice blasted from his companion's staff, turning two into pillars of ice. Instantly, she sent a huge block to crush one. The other, she attacked with her fist to make it crumble. In less than a minute, her two opponents were dead. The remaining genlock fired an arrow that Alistair had almost forgotten to block with his shield. Once more, he charged and chopped its head off in one swing. He had to admit: he was not as graceful as his companion.

His companion kicked the body of the other darkspawn he killed. "Scouts," she said calmly. "A platoon will be here soon. Let's go. What was Duncan thinking of by turning you into a Grey Warden? Fool."

"Excuse me, what?" were the only words that came from the puzzled Alistair.

"I said: Duncan is a fool!"

"You know Duncan?"

"Not enough to know that he would turn you into a Grey Warden. But yes, he was my friend." There was a tinge of sadness in those last words.

Her accent was Orlesian. He was not introduced to any female Grey Warden, save Rosamond or Orlesian Grey Warden save Riordan. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

She paused, hesitating for a moment. Then she bowed her head in resignation. "No."

"I thought so. The name is Alistair." He extended his had, but awkwardly withdrew it after a minute since she did not take it. "Do you have a name, milady?"

"Milady? Only humans are addressed as such."

"Some elves are more noble at heart than humans. Your kind was immortal once, so I have heard."

"Hmmm…" A pout curved on her lips. Her deep thoughts added more wrinkles to her forehead. He could tell that she was once beautiful.

"So, uh…"

"Fiona," she said curtly. "From Weisshaupt. Not too pleased to meet you, human."

"Whatever you say, mother."

Fiona looked at him incredulously. "What did you call me?"

"Mother. You are old enough to be my mother." He knew he should not be insulting an older member of the Order, but he could not help it. Somehow, he felt comfortable enough to call him that.

She hesitated, as if she wanted to say something but couldn't. Lifting her shoulders, she replied, "Whatever. Now let us go before more darkspawn arrive."

"Wait, we have to rescue my friends. They have been imprisoned in that village with several elves who we were trying to free."

"Forget them. The darkspawn are coming. They will overwhelm anything in their way."

"And you would leave your fellow elves to slavery or death?"

"Do you not know anything boy? We elves have always been slaves. We have been dying for centuries."

"I know that. But if there is any way to free your kind or to save them, I would do it. I have to because they said I would be king."

"And you want to be king?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"Bah!" she scoffed. "Foolish. Just like someone I know."

"Duncan?"

"No. Someone more foolish than Duncan." Before he could comment or ask anything, she declared, "Fine! I'll help you, but when you come to the village you will find it abandoned. Your friends and the villagers have been taken to Fort Greum."

"How far is that from here?"

"Three miles."

"And how long till the darkspawn get to us?"

"Five hours. Maybe four."

"Alright! Let's get goooo—" His foot slipped on darkspawn blood, and he fell with a crash.

If Alistair had not been busy mumbling about his clumsiness, he would have heard Fiona mutter, "Like Father, like son."


	8. Chapter 7: Mother, Part 2

**Chapter 7: Mother, Part 2**

_Continuation_

Hidden under a bush, Alistair's eyes surveyed the fort and its log walls. The gates were heavily guarded. He guessed that there would be at least a hundred soldiers in there. He knew that of course as a potential king of Ferelden and Grey Warden, he would be welcomed in its prison but there would be no coming out of it. The white runestone felt heavy in his hand.

Fiona beside him impatiently tapped the end of her staff on the ground. "So: how are you going to sneak across those _massive_ walls and _armored_ soldiers?" Yeah, she was trying to scare him out of it.

He shrugged. "I dunno. Get captured then get lucky and save the day."

"Idiot."

"Yeah, I know. That's what she calls me."

"Who?"

He took a seat on the rough ground and motioned to her to do the same, which she gladly did. "Rosamond. She's a new recruit like me. Beautiful. Wicked in a fight. Strong, although something in her feels fragile like you would want to shield her if you can. Often snappish but kind, caring. You'll like her."

"Is she human?"

At first he did not know how to respond to that, because there were time when he felt Rosamond to be celestial. Then, seeing his companion's pointy ears, he knew what she wanted to know. "Yes, a noblewoman even, but she does not look down on people. I remember her impulsively saying one evening how she sometimes feels like an elf."

"An elf? Why?"

"She said she kind of understands the feeling of having power and immortality then losing it all. "

She rose and then started noiselessly creeping away from the bush, away from the fort. He had to follow her, trying not to make his armor and metal boots make too much noise. "Hm…"

"What?"

"What do you think she would do in a time like this?"

"Maybe…find a way to distract the guards and soldiers out of the fort."

"Umhmm"

"Sneak in after most of the soldiers are gone."

"Yup." At this, she stopped and started tapping the ground with her staff.

"Get the prisoners…"

"Good." He failed to hear her staff came upon something hollow.

"And fight our way out!"

"Right." Raising her staff, she whispered something. A trapdoor opened.

The light from her staff revealed what was in that trapdoor: kegs. Lots of them.

"What are those?"

"Explosives. It was hidden them here many years ago. And by the looks of it, those villians have not discovered this yet."

"How did you know about this?"

"That fort and these kegs were hidden and abandoned by the Orlesians. Our former commander discovered these many years ago and made that fort a temporary hiding place until the humans seized it. But enough ancient history…"

"Okay."

"If you could help me with a few of these, I could create a nice explosion over that ridge. That will distract half the soldiers. Once they are gone, make your way through the water ducts and sneak your way to the dungeons. I'll follow you as soon as I can."

"Sounds like a plan, but how are we going to get out?"

"That's up to you. Hopefully you have as much luck as your father."

"You know my father?"

She nodded. "Like I said, enough about ancient history."

* * *

The water felt cold on his skin. He had to leave his armor behind as he could not swim with it on. He was doing a rogue's job and he would probably fail at it.

It was almost time. He just and to wait a bit until…

BOOM!

Right on time, he thought. He dove down the pool of water and past the iron grills. Thankfully, they were wide enough for him to pass through. Upon swimming up, he noticed the pool on this side was smaller. He was about to gasp for air until he noticed a pair of feet above him. A soldier pouring something on the water from a bucket. He did not like the liquid's color. As soon as the soldier was gone, he surfaced, breathed the scent of air, and realized that he stank. Maybe he was not so lucky after all.

By the time he rose from the water, the fort was almost cleared out of soldiers. He snuck behind a few crates and to a door. It was not locked. Silently praising the Maker, he went in to see what that room was: the armory.

Hallelujah!

One armor was lucky enough to fit him. It was not a Templar's armor but it suit him well. He also found a good steady shield, a sword and a few sealed papers that looked like commissions hidden under the hay. He was about to pocket a few daggers when a voice on the door yelled: "Hey!"

Uh, oh.

Behind him stood a captain. "Soldier! Weren't you all sent to the ridge?"

He guiltily turned. "I…uh…"

The captain strode to him. "I do not think I have ever seen you…" At this, he stopped. Placing a hand on his nose, he let out a muffled groan. "Maker, you stink."

"I am sorry sir, I…."

Before he finished that sentence, the captain grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him out of the door. "Soldier: go to the barracks and get a shower at once!"

Almost stumbling, he gladly replied: "Sir, yes, sir!"

That was close.

He found the dungeons. Only one was guarding the prisons. He had a bottle of ale in his hand. His feet was up on a chair. Leliana, Wynne and Sten were behind the locked bars with the captured elves.

Both women recognized Alistair instantly. The guard lazily called out to him, "Waddayawant?"

Alistair saluted. Hopefully, it looked real enough. "The captain has requested your presence at the ridge."

"Hihihi" the guard let out before lifting his precious pint.

Great. Just what he needed: a drunken lazy guard. "You dare question orders? I have orders, ahhh…here." Alistair groped for the papers he took. "See the captain's seal."

The guard grabbed the rolled parchment. "Lemme see."

As soon as the guard broke open the seal and opened it, he almost fell from his chair, laughing in very short heaves. From behind the iron bars, Wynne's eyes widened. Leliana almost collapsed with laughter. An elven mother covered her son's eyes. Sten stared.

"Is there something funny about the captain's papers?"

"This is just the most graphic orders that I have ever seen."

Alistair snatched the paper back and turned red. One glance revealed a picture of bodies—elves, dwarves, women and men—in disturbingly compromising positions with Templars and Chantry sisters. It looked foreign and definitely not for children.

The guard was still roaring with laughter when Wynne extended her hand and whispered something. Within moments, he dropped off to the floor and snored.

Quickly, Alistair grabbed the guard's keys on from the guard's wide belt and started opening the prison doors.

An elderly elf took his hands. "Thank you for coming back for us, stranger. We thought that our children shall never again see freedom again."

"We still have to get out of here. We will see to it that you get to safety."

Wynne took him in her arms and ruffled his hair a bit. "It is good to see you alive. For a minute there, I thought you were an abomination."

"He certainly smells like one," Leliana quipped.

"Shut up."

Sten grunted.

Luckily, all their confiscated weapons were stored in a trunk within the prison. There was also a small bucket of water and towel, which enabled Wynne to clean some of the smell off Alistair. Better than nothing.

Leliana came out first, silently dispatching guards as she went and clearing a path for them. Slowly, the group made their way behind crates until at last they reached the gate. There were six soldiers guarding the gate: there were two on towers and two on the gatedoors. Getting rid of them without sounding an alarm would not be easy.

"I don't like these odds," Wynne remarked.

"Maybe we should just go back to the way I came in," suggested Alistair.

Leliana interrupted, "And come out smelling like you? No way."

He was about to snap back when the gates opened. A horse and cart pulled in filled with kegs and Fiona whose hands were bound back together.

"Oh no, Mother," Alistair gasped.

"Mother?" Wynne asked.

"Nevermind. I'll explain later."

A group of twenty soldiers marched in with a lieutenant in front who was met by the captain. Fiona was hauled off the cart and pushed to the captain. The captain's gloved hand roughly grabbed Fiona's chin while he inspected her face.

"We found her scoping the ridge sir," said the lieutenant.

The captain addressed Fiona. "Hm…so you are the one causing trouble?"

Alistair felt Wynne's tight hand push his shoulders down as he watched the captain slap Fiona and deliver one blow to her stomach, knocking her to the ground. He wanted to hit that captain back.

From the door leading to the prisons, the guard who Wynne put to sleep ran out. "Captain, the prisoners have escaped."

The captain, now angry, turned his attention back to the mage lying helplessly on the ground. "Where are the prisoners?"

She did not answer.

The captain's boot delivered a kick on the mage's belly. "I asked: Where are the prisoners."

Fiona tried to reach for her staff that was on the side of the cart, but the captain kicked her grasping hand. He gestured for a soldier to take the staff. Before everyone's eyes, the soldier broke her staff.

"I guess you are useless without your staff now."

Fiona spitted blood on the captain's boot. "I do not need my staff."

Suddenly, as if with newfound strength, Fiona stood up. Fire came out from her hands to the kegs, sending out a huge explosion that killed and knocked back many soldiers in the perimeter. Fiona screamed: "Run!"

Leliana did not need anyone's command as she quickly fired arrows on the guards on the towers. Sten and Alistair charged at both gatekeepers while Wynne called out an earthquake that kept many enemies from rising on their feet. Within minutes, the elves were out and free, some slashing their way out through incoming soldiers.

They were about to run out as well when Alistair saw Fiona struggling to get up on the unstable ground. She was able to stand but the captain grabbed her foot, making her crash to the ground next to him. Fiona shouted at Alistair, "Go!"

"No!" He yelled back and shoved his sword through a charging enemy. "I am not leaving you."

"Go, my son! Please."

"No!"

Within seconds, the earthquake stopped. Only the captain and two other men were able to get up on their feet. The captain clutched his sword.

"We will spare you if you surrender," Alistair told him.

The captain laughed. "Wrong: it is you who must surrender. My men are coming down from the hills. You are surrounded."

Just then, they heard a weak trumpet from a distance, trees being knocked down and the sound of hundreds of feet running from the hills.

Alistair smiled. "Your men won't be coming back now."

Blue light flashed from the grey warden's eyes. The captain and his two other men ran away in terror. Alistair helped Fiona up. Fiona clutched Alistair in her arms. "Now can we go?"

"Not yet."

* * *

Rosamond's eyes flashed blue. She could hear fighting from a distance. Driving her spurs forward, she hoped that she was not too late. Morrigan clutched on her waist tightly. The woman could not ride a horse on her own. She could feel the woman's pout on her back. At least she stopped rattling about her decision to send the 'fool' on his type of errand.

Shale's feet crushed the ground behind her. Although the golem was a little slow, at least he could run. Zevran rode beside her with about thirty of Redcliffe's soldiers. She was lucky enough that the arls allowed them to come with her. They were fighting for their king. Fergus darted past all off them.

They all halted to a stop when they came in front of a burning fort. Morrigan dismounted from the horse. Rosamond sadly whispered, "We are too late."

There was a crash on the gate. Something was trying to break free. The gates fell. Out came burning darkspawn.

Shale sent a boulder hurtling towards them. She yelled an order for the men to charge at the weakened enemies. A familiar war cry came from behind the trees. From them came Leliana, Wyne, Sten, Alistair, elven villagers and an unknown elven mage sending out lighting to the darkspawn.

Rosamond had no time to think. A Hurlock lifted his axe toward her. She beheaded him with one stroke. She threw one dagger to one genlock that was about to stab the unknown mage from behind. Hearing the body crash behind her, the mage nodded to her in thanks.

The darkspawn were routed within minutes. None survived.

The fires died down. An hour later, most of them were gathering the corpses. Fiona picked up a staff from a dead emissary. "This will do for now."

"Are you sure you cannot stay and fight with us?" asked Alistair. "We could certainly use more Grey Wardens here and another mage."

"No. For reasons that should remain secret, I fear that I will not be able to fight the archdemon as I am. I have to report back to Weisshaupt, but I will send help to you."

"Thanks." Goodbye was should have been the next word that he would say, but somehow it could not come out. He watched her go until he remembered something important. "Just curious: why did you call me son?"

She stopped. "Because…you are…like my son."

"You have a son?"

"Yes, and I wish that somehow, he could know how much I love him and how proud I am of him."

"Maybe someday he would know."

Her worn hands found its way to the boy's hair. Planting a soft kiss on his forehead, she whispered, "No, for his sake he could never know." There were tears on her eyes. The amulet suddenly started to feel heavy on Alistair's neck.

"Are you religious, Mother?"

"No."

"I thought so."

Alistair spied Rosamond from across the field. She was searching for him.

"Go to her," said the mage. "I am sure she misses you."

He did not need even think of second guessing that. When he turned back to take one last look at the eleven mage, she was gone.

From a short distance, hidden behind the trees, Fiona watched the boy rush and take his beloved in his arms. They lingered like that for a moment. Fiona wondered what sweet thoughts were coming from the girls mind. She could tell that the girl relished in his embrace. When they finally let go, the girl delivered a hard slap on the boy's cheek. Somehow, that looked familiar.

"What was that for?" she heard the boy protest.

"That was for kissing me last time without my permission."

"Oh, c'mon. I thought you liked it. Besides, it was for luck. Remember?"

"Whatever it I liked it or not, it is my maidenly duty to slap anyone who kisses me without permission."

"That doesn't make any sense."

The girl smiled. "I know."

"Right. I'll take my chances by trying it again someday."

"Excuse me?"

"You know what the Chant of Light says about turning the other cheek."

Fiona smiled sadly. Although the boy had almost everything she wanted him to have: freedom, respect and love, she wished that she could give him so much more. He was her son but now they belong to different worlds: it was as if her son belonged to heaven and she belonged to the earth. But her son knew love. At least, he knew love.

When the battlefield was cleared, the soldiers carried Alistair on their shoulders. He was their hero. He was their king. He rode off on a steed with his beloved.

The stars shone above Fiona as she whispered, "Maric, I wish you could see this."


	9. Chapter 8: Mischances

**Chapter 8: Mischances**

"Hold still, sir," the barber told Alistair as he snipped across the back of his head.

"Can I see? Can I see now?"

"In a bit."

It has been quite some time since Alistair had last seen a barber. For the upcoming feast, he visited the tailor, the barber, the smithy for armor repairs and the townspeople who greeted him as a hero. Alistair had to admit: there were some perks to being a prospective king. He did not have to be king to enjoy them.

"Finished," said the barber as he handed him a mirror.

To the onlooker, he probably looked the same, but that was the point. He loved his hair the way it is. He tipped the barber for affirming his taste in hairstyle.

As he exited his room, he nearly bumped into the arl who was walking with a noble wearing black.

"Ah, Alistair," said the arl almost gasping. "I was just looking for you. Do you know Bann Loren?"

Bann Loren had no hair. His care worn middle-aged features were all sullen. He was in mourning. Alistair remembered: this man lost his wife the same night Rosamond lost her parents.

"Yes, milord." To the mourning noble he said, "My condolences for your wife."

The man nodded grimly. "We are accepting our loss the best we can."

There was an awkward silence that the arl broke, "Isolde sent me on an errand. She told me that she has some dresses she wants Lady Rosamond to fit. Also, the dancing master is here. If you could practice a few turns with the right partner, that would do you well. I trust you know who that is." That last sentence, the arl said with a wink.

"Yes, sir."

As the two men walked off, the arl's voice echoed through the hallway, "Oh to be young and in love. Oh love…"

_Oh, Maker. The man is possessed._

Redcliffe was bustling with activity for the feast. The arl has invited many lords to the feast: a political gesture perhaps that could help introduce him as the future king. In the castle, servants scurried about putting up decorations and waiting on guests. Nobles loitered in the halls. There were so many people unknown to Alistair that made him almost feel that the private space of the castle has now been violated. Every day he met banns, arls and foreign dignitaries. He never felt so overwhelmed in his life.

At least he had Rosamond with him, who always stilled his nervous hands.

Ever since they came back from the battle, Rosamond became somewhat of a celebrity—not that she was not before it, from what he heard she charmed both the courts of Ferelden and Orlais, but their recent exploits enabled her to gain a different reputation. He expected to find her hidden in a slightly dark nook in the library. At least, that was her most common hiding place whenever she wanted to hide from acquaintances.

He opened the library door.

"But surely," he heard a man's voice say. He knew who it was: it was Dairren, Rosamond's "friend" and his suspected rival. "Surely you do admire Prince Hal as a character."

"I do," Rosamond answered. "I do admire him. In fact once, I fancied myself in love with him. But I am unsure of his politics. His success as a king meant getting rid of people he has come to care for."

"A good king must make hard decisions."

"But not at the cost of himself. I quite pity him, you know."

"Why?"

"With his masquerading, I believe he has lost himself. In fact, even at the end I still could not make him out."

At this, he entered.

"Ah, your majesty," Dairren respectfully addressed him. "We were just speaking of the play earlier and the character of the prince. Lady Rosamond here says she pities him for losing himself and making the hard decisions. As a true prince, my liege, what do you think?"

_Think, Alistair, think_. Rosamond's expectant eyes were fixed on him.

"I think a prince should be himself," he answered. "Although with other people's expectations, I must admit that that is a bit difficult."

"Well said, your majesty," said Dairren.

_Flatterer._

"Alistair, is there something the matter?" Rosamond asked him.

"No," he replied. "Just admiring the weather."

A thunder clapped. Both gave him puzzled looks. Through the painted windows, they could all see that it was raining heavily outside.

"I, uh, have been sent to relay a message for you: Lady Isolde has some dresses for you to fit, and the dancemaster is here."

"Excellent!" cried Dairren. "My lady, would I have the honor of having you as a dance partner?"

Rosamond replied, smiling, "I would be delighted."

Alistair had to remind himself not to scowl when Lord Perfect took her had. Lord Perfect has beaten him to his goal.

* * *

"Take your places!" commanded the dance master.

Alistair's feet was getting weary partly for about two hours of dancing and two hours of getting trod on by the witch who reluctantly became his partner. She was doing it on purpose.

It was a line dance. He and Morrigan were told to lead. Zevran, near the end, took Leliana's hand and kissed it. The latter curtsied. It seemed that both of them were not too unfamiliar with courtly protocol. Rosamond stood beside Morrigan, laughing at one of Dairren's jokes—a joke he did not understand. He restrained himself from delivering a punch to the man's face for smirking at Rosamond.

The music was slow. The master gave the signal for partners to cross hands and turn. He circled around the noble beside him.

"Change partners!"

_At last. _

It took a few changes for him to get to Rosamond. When he finally took her small delicate hands, her face was more serious than usual.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Alistair?" she asked.

He did not answer.

"I am trying to make conversation here, Alistair."

"Is that necessary?"

"Indeed it is. Otherwise, your partner might get bored."

"What does one talk about when one is dancing?"

"Anything. You could talk about the weather, the dance, or gossip about anyone in the room as long as they are not within earshot."

"Very well. Do you like Dairren?"

Her wide smile fell. "Save that."

"You said we could talk about anything."

"Except that."

"Right. It was probably inapropriate of me to ask." He shrugged, "Then we won't talk at all."

"Fine." They danced for a while, but after a few silent turns, Rosamond irritatedly asked, "What's wrong with Dairren anyway?"

"Do you intend to marry him in case he proposes?"

"Marry? What? I think we are getting ahead of ourselves here— "

Alistair pursed his lips. "You are not exactly answering the question."

"What if I do?"

"Then as your brother, I would advice you otherwise. Marriage is a serious thing. Marry when you are older, wiser. Maybe thirty is the right age?"

"Thirty? My mother told me to get married at fifteen after getting three proposals. I did not exactly heed that but—"

"Forget what your mother said," he interrupted.

"I think you are taking this brotherly concern too far. "

"What makes you think it is only because of brotherly concern that I'm arguing with you right now?"

"Oh dear," she teased. "My dear brother is really jealous."

"What if I am?" he asked, raising his voice. "What if I don't want you receiving flowers, or batting your eyelashes at anybody else?"

Rosamond laughed coyly. "Why? I am a maiden after all and it is my right to have as many suitors as I can."

On the next turn, she met his intent eyes. "Because I may want to be the only one to give you flowers, and the one you bat your eyelashes to."

"Why?"

"You have to ask yourself that question."

Rosamond almost tripped but she quickly recovered herself. "I belong to no one else but me."

"I know." By this time, Alistair noticed several eyes staring at them. "Of course that is only a 'what if.'"

"Okay."

"And I am not jealous. I just sound jealous." At this, he almost tripped on the hem of somebody's dress, but Rosamond caught him. He smiled at her but she would not look at him.

The dance ended. After Alistair bowed and Rosamond curtsied, Rosamond said, "You're right. We must end this discussion."

It was not the first time he saw her walk away, but this time he decided that he was not giving up.

* * *

"I do not want you receiving flowers or battling your eyelashes at anybody else!"

"Why?"

"Isn't it obvious? I want you."

"Alistair…"

"Rosamond…"

Leliana said that last word with outstretched arms and an exaggerated expression of passion. A thrown pillow hit her from behind. At the bed on the corner, Morrigan turned and placed pillow over her head.

Rosamond laughed at the scene Leliana role-played before her. Her untied hair fell on her shoulders. Turning back to the mirror, she said, "Leliana, it did not sound or happen like that."

"I know." Leliana picked up the brush again from the dresser and continued brushing Rosamond's hair. "But you have to admit to yourself that that's how it should have happened and that is what you wanted to happen."

"Yes and no."

"Why so?"

"Because nothing should ever happen between us. We are both Grey Wardens with a quest to end the Blight. Add to that is the fact that he is a bastard prince who has a very good chance of becoming king."

"A prince and a princess. Sounds just like the characters of a great love story to me."

"Real love stories are more complicated than that you know. Besides, we cannot afford any distractions. We need to save ourselves from heartbreak in case anything should happen to any of us."

"I think you underestimate your heart."

"I think both of you overestimate my ability to sleep!" bellowed Morrigan beneath her blankets.

Rosamond mouthed the word "sorry." Leliana took her hand and both made for the door laughing.

As the door shut behind them, Leliana asked, "So, now that he has sort of declared his feelings towards you, what would you do now?"

"I'll say that I'll have none of him."

"You are impossible."

"I believe that I should refuse a guy as many times as possible just so that she could know what he is like under pressure. Besides, Mother told me that men should always make the first the first move."

"What age do you live in dear? That idea sounds a little ancient."

"Well, there are many ways of saying 'yes.' And—" Rosamond cut herself short when they heard some footsteps down the hall. She knew very well whose those were.

Alistair appeared at the corner. For a moment he stopped and then walked on. As he passed the girls, he said, "Evening Leliana."

"Good evening," was the bard's reply.

With that he proceeded and disappeared at the other corner leaving a very confused Rosamond.

"Do you think I'm invisible Leliana?"

Leliana stared at Rosamond, moving her head forwards and backwards. "I don't think so."

Rosamond scowled.

"Looks like he beat you at your own game."

"Ugh!" Stomping back to her room, Rosamond slammed the door shut. Hurling herself to bed, she vowed that she would never think of Alistair. But she did.


End file.
